24. The Unquiet Grave (Child 78)
This very effective bit of the lore of the returning dead is apparently modern; none of Child's versions are of record earlier than the nineteenth century. It is still current in England, reported in the Journal of the Folk-Song Society from Herefordshire, Lancashire, Surrey, and Somerset, and by Miss Broadwood (English Traditional Songs aftd Carols 54-5) from Devonshire. It has not very often been found on this side of the Atlantic: Mrs. Greenleaf reports it from Newfoundland (BSSN 23-4), Herbert Halpert from New Jersey (JAFL Lii 53-4), Davis from Virginia (FSV 17), and Niles from Kentucky (MSHF 18-19). Most of the texts recorded in recent years are very much alike, suggesting the influence of print, but Child makes no reference to broadside copies. Mrs. Sutton's text corresponds pretty closely to Child's A.
'The Restless Grave.' Reported by Mrs. Sutton from the singing of Myra Barnett (Mrs. J. J. Miller) of King's Creek in the Brushies, Caldwell county, apparently in 1913 or thereabouts. Mrs. Sutton writes: "Back in 1913 when the first copies of her ballads were made she had not heard many songs that were not the possession of her ancestors when they settled in the coves of the Brushies. She had seen many 'song books,' that is, religious song books, but of secular songs she knew only the traditional and homemade ballads."
1. 'The wind blows cold, my own true love.
And a few cold drops of rain.
I never had but one true love ;
In the cold grave she was lain.
2 'I'll do as much for my true love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn by her grave side
For [a] twelve-month and a day.'
3 The twelve-month and a day has passed,
The dead begins to speak.
'Who is it sits at my grave side
And will not let me sleep?'
4 'Tis I, my love, sits by your grave
And will not let you sleep.
I crave one kiss from your clay-cold lips
And that is all I seek.'
5 'You crave one kiss from my clay-cold lips,
But the call of death is strong;
If you get one kiss from my cold lips
Your time will not be long.
6 ' 'Tis down in yonder garden path,
Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower that's ever seen
Is withered on the stalk.
7 'The stalk is withered dry, my love;
So will our hearts decay.
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.'